


Orders

by wh1psticka



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Dom/sub, Light BDSM, M/M, Master/Servant, at least a little bit, bootlicking, i guess one homofash is already enough, nazi couldnt be more in denial about how gay he is we all know this, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wh1psticka/pseuds/wh1psticka
Summary: Nazi finds himself in dire straits. Commie proves himself to be the more imposing authoritarian.or: that commie nazi bootlicking fanfic i posted on r/jregHot
Relationships: Commie/Nazi, authleft/authright, authunity
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Something I posted on Reddit, but because I don't wanna get sucked into that platform I'll post my future fics on here if I make them.  
> Content warning: dubcon (as is to be expected between those two) and very mild BDSM violence.

He could not begin to explain this situation. There was absolutely no way to explain it. Any occurring thought of what his fellow compatriots, or, God forbid, his Führer, might think if they saw him like this would be repressed like anything that was even a sliver seductive, deviant, subversive. 

He had been biting his tongue, he noticed, as the familiar taste of iron filled his mouth. Something to focus on, anything to distract from the cold and unmerciful stare of the communist towering above him.  
He spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth and took a gasping breath to work up the courage to talk back at him. „Is this what you want, huh? You enjoy this? Now that Ancom’s gone, you need someone else to fill the space? You’re a fucking -”

He was unable to finish whatever thought was in his mind, too distracted by the immense pain of a military boot stepping on his groin.  
“And you enjoy this, _Kulak.”_

Commie shifted his weight onto his knee, increasing the pressure, and Nazi let out a pained cry. “Fuck…” He moaned, caving in, hunching over with pain. “I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna fucking kill you, you’re all gonna end up in a death camp, I swear,” he mumbled frantically in a desperate attempt to talk over the white hot pain, the nervous, excited yearning for something unspeakable, but his sentences became less and less coherent and eventually trailed off into a drawn-out moan. He was painfully hard, his cock straining against his tight slacks.

Suddenly, the source of pain retreated, and he all but doubled over, but was able to clumsily stop himself from breaking his nose without his hands to support his fall – instead, he found his face merely an inch away from one of Commie’s black military boots, the foot that had just stepped on him. 

He knew exactly what was coming. No words necessary. 

A strenuous glance up at Commie only faced him with the cold, unrelenting stare of a true Authoritarian.  
They both knew Nazi was not one to rebel.  
A chill went down his spine, his mouth watered.

He took a long, shaky breath, felt his cock throb in his pants and thought of tales of comradery he’d heard of heroic veterans, of walking through hell and facing death for a greater cause. Comradery, that was it. That was all there was to it.  
He opened his mouth, leaned in, and gave the boot a small, hesitant lick, that was, after a moment of hesitation, followed with a small gasp before he leaned back in to follow through with several generous licks, the faint taste of dirt and shoe polish far less obnoxious than he’d anticipated, and he continued until every bit of the shoe from the bottom of the laces to the side of the soles had been cleaned. He was sure he could hear a faint gasp from the man above him, but he did not dare to close his mouth, pause, or swallow until he had fulfilled his command, until he had satisfied his leader.

Eventually he pulled back with a shaky breath. Commie helped him sit back up straight. 

“I proved my point,” he uttered dryly, his cold stare having… not softened, exactly, but turned more forgiving. “Look at you.”  
No description followed. His hair was disheveled, his cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands were tied behind his back, the hemp burning against his skin, blood and spit dripping down his chin, an obvious bulge in his pants, none of that Commie felt the need to point out to him. He silently thanked him for it.

The corners of Commie’s mouth moved upwards.  
_“Braver Junge,”_ he murmured. “That is how you say it, right?”

Till this day, Nazi thanks all higher powers whom he had previously doubted the existence of that he did not come in his pants right then and there.

**Author's Note:**

> "Braver Junge" is German for "good boy".


End file.
